


To Kiss, To Dance

by jamiesfreckles



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23518438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiesfreckles/pseuds/jamiesfreckles
Summary: Kissing Erik is always a bit like dancing on a dark night.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	To Kiss, To Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NedrynWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NedrynWrites/gifts).



> this is very small and hopefully still okay! ned gently requested cuddles and fluffy kisses and I hope this hits the mark despite my trademark sneaky angst, but overall this is fluffy and I hope that’s good!! 
> 
> There may be a few mistakes because I’m writing on my phone until I get a new laptop, but I’ll fix them in the morning! 
> 
> Ned, you deserve all the good things in the world! <3

“You’re an idiot,” is Erik’s tender opinion on the subject. 

El huffs, raising a hand to touch the wound near his temple. His searching fingers get smacked away instantly; Erik wields a pot of ointment and a look of disappointment with frightening expertise. 

The ship creaks gently, a rocking chair beneath the invisible knees of some humble godly grandmother. The hammock isn’t the most stable thing for him to sit on while they do this, but Erik claimed the crate stacked nearby, and El didn't want to sit on the salt-slick floor. 

“Keep still while I do this, or I’ll poke your eyes out. And it won’t be an accident.”

El keeps still. He doesn’t even wince when Erik slides the ointment over the wound, the skin stitching up in an instant, leaving behind a pearlescent mint sheen. 

“There,” Erik says, tutting, when he’s done. “Idiot.”

‘You said that.’

“Yeah, well, it’s worth repeating. What are you doing?”

What Eleven is doing can generously be called ‘grabbing’ or, perhaps less generously, ‘manhandling.’ He takes Erik’s wrist and pulls him backwards until they’re both splayed out on the hammock, fitting seamlessly together, legs tangled, ankles brushing. Erik makes a noise of protest that takes off into contentment. 

Eleven settles in. He buries his face in Erik’s hair, wrinkling his nose slightly at the sea-thick curls, tangled and unbrushed. But the feel of Erik beside him is warm and familiar, enough to comfort those less dregs of worry. 

“We’re supposed to help Sylv start dinner,” Erik says, stifling a yawn. His nose is cold, pressed against El’s collarbone. He nuzzles there for a minute before snickering, and adding, “All the more reason to take a really long nap, if you ask me.”

Eleven rolls his eyes fondly at the ceiling. 

He gets a jab in the side for that, and Erik muttering, “I can feel you being a sarky bastard. Knock it off.”

Eleven can’t knock it off. There was a moment between the first rise of the sea monsters, soaring through waves and up onto the deck with a fearsome roar, and spotting that heap of blue hair in the near-distance, that Eleven thought he was going to lose him. One of the monsters got the drop on Erik, which never happens, even though Eleven is often afraid that it might. He’s always watchful, and he knows Erik watches in return. 

But this time was close. If it hadn’t ended in a gaping wound on El’s head, then it would have been a thousand times worse for Erik. 

Eleven doesn’t think that he can handle that. No, he _knows_ he can’t handle that. He can barely handle watching his grandfather and his makeshift sister and his good, kind friends throw themselves into battle for some bigger-than-them quest. He can’t handle Erik getting hurt. Erik is something else, something different. Something more. 

‘Hey,’ Eleven signs, suddenly feeling rather frantic. Apparently the last dregs of worry are more like several inches of fear at the bottom of a teacup. He pulls on Erik’s collar, squirming down the hammock until their faces are mere inches apart. 

“Wuh—!” Erik blusters, flailing backwards slightly. 

The hammock swings dangerously swiftly, but they don't tip out. They manage, by the sheer grace of godly grandmothers, to hang on to each other. Erik swears softly under his breath, gripping Eleven’s shirt in return, and El kisses the curse words right out of his mouth. 

Kissing Erik is always a bit like dancing on a dark night. There are dips and sudden turns and sometimes the speed of it all makes him catch his breath. But they always find their rhythm, leading each other through a velvet softness, through the darkness, into the light. 

“El,” Erik gasps out, eyes closed, kissing him between stuttered breaths. He groans and then laughs when El kisses his jaw, then the tip of his chin in a playful smack, then down the hilt of his throat. “El, please.”

The ‘please’ sounds different. Trembling, still, but with a different sort of want. An entirely new kind of ache. 

“El, come back up here.”

An impatient tug on his shirt brings El up to Erik’s face. His eyes are bright and quietly intent, seeing all the things that Eleven can’t always bring himself to say, all the things that Erik won’t admit to feeling. Not yet. There’s time, though. Ample amounts. And even if it takes a while, even if they run out… Eleven knows the truth of it all. 

“Please stop throwing yourself in front of sea monsters for me,” Erik says, a hint of something so lovely in his tone. It says _I love you, so please…_ “For any of us, really, but especially me.”

Never, Eleven thinks, and holds him close until they fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed !! You can say hi if you like, I only bite biscuits! <3


End file.
